


A Single Thread of Hope

by Nny



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 16:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: The spell that summoned the memory demon has somehow gone wrong, and now Alec is forced to get to know Magnus Bane up close and personal...[Some dialogue taken directly from S1x04 and S1x05]





	A Single Thread of Hope

The pentagram was beautiful, carefully coaxed into being through Clary’s patient attention to the drawing Magnus had given her. Alec hated that he was impressed by it, hated more how obviously _Jace_ was; Clary looked up, startled, at the hand that appeared under her arm, returned a flustered smile for the calculated grin that Alec had watched him practicing for years. When Clary had her footing back she brushed her hands together to get rid of the dust, and Magnus gestured dismissively before it could reach the floor, a wisp of color whisking out of the room. 

And if he could do _that_ , if all it took was a gesture then why couldn’t he do _this_ with his magic, why couldn’t he hold out his hands and persuade the chalk into place? Magic was full of inconsistencies and illogical contradictions like that and Alec didn’t trust it. Didn’t like it. Wouldn’t let himself be swayed from that just because of a moment’s amused attention from perfectly made-up eyes. 

He wasn’t used to people looking past Jace and seeing him. That was all it was.

So Alec ignored Magnus’ jokes and smooth voice, ignored the strong lines of his bared forearms. Instead he listened to the instructions and stood where he was told to stand because following orders had been hammered into him from birth, had forged him into the man he was. 

“No matter what happens,” Magnus said, his voice heavy and serious for the first time since Alec had first seen him, “we must not let go of each other’s hands.” He caught all of their eyes in turn and then held out his hand to Alec, palm up, an offering. It felt, absurdly, like a turning point; like taking Magnus’ hand, with its smooth uncallused skin, frivolous jewelry, meticulously painted nails, was a step away from everything that Alec was supposed to know. He swallowed, hard, and reached out in his turn, taken off guard by the pulse of power and attention that rushed through him at the contact. Magnus’ eyes widened a little and Alec licked his lips and looked away, uncertain and uncomfortable and still unwilling to let go. 

Reaching for Jace’s hand felt almost mundane in comparison, which must have been the familiarity. It must have been that whatever romantic metaphors had fluttered in his stomach at Magnus’ touch had fluttered themselves out, leaving nothing but warmth and the strength of Jace’s hand. The corner of Alec’s mouth quirked slightly when Jace squeezed his fingers, part comfort and partly to share the joke - what the hell were they _doing_? - before he stretched out his other hand for Clary’s, clearly jolting at the contact. 

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “You people are pathetic,” she said, dry as Alec’s mouth, and reached for Clary’s hand and then Magnus’, completing their circle. 

“I will lead the ceremony,” Magnus told them, “and you all must do exactly as I say.” And that was the last point that anything managed to go right. 

Orange eyes stared at Alec out of the dark swirling smoke, stared far past his outward appearance and into every secret part of him, every place he kept hidden. 

“A beloved memory,” Magnus said, “of the one we love the most,” and Alec thought desperately of his little sister, standing strong against the darkness. Of Max and his endless curiosity, the mischief he couldn’t seem to help but cause. He thought of his parents and the complicated love he felt for them, how its edges were rough and jagged and tore him up inside. _Anyone_ , he thought, _anyone but -_

It was like he could feel the demon slip past them all, all of his offerings, and he could feel the color drain from his face when he saw the memory it chose. 

“No,” he said, involuntary, like it was dragged out of him alongside the image of Jace’s face. “It’s not true. The demon deceived me -” 

“Do not break the bond,” Magnus bellowed, his hand tightening against Alec’s, but Jace’s fingers were slipping from his, slackened with surprise. 

“Alec, it’s okay,” Izzy called, because for her this wasn’t any kind of revelation, but he couldn’t look at Jace, couldn’t bear to see the expression he wore. 

“No,” Alec said again, self-disgust curdling in his stomach until the only thing he could do was yank himself away and curl in on himself. A wave of demonic force flung them all backwards, all of them except Magnus, who was clearly straining against an impossible power. 

“I cannot contain the demon much longer,” he yelled, and it was with a painful sense of inevitability that Alec struggled to his feet, pushed forward - only to be shoved aside by his idiot of a parabatai. 

That it was Clary who wound up killing the demon, saving the day, in spite of her lack of training - it was just the ultimate humiliation to add to the world of shame that Alec was living in. He scrambled to his feet just as soon as he knew that Jace was breathing, backing away from the bundle of gratitude on the floor, trying to do with physical distance what his unmanageable emotions never allowed. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Alec,” Magnus said. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alec responded, everything in him held back and restrained until all that would come out was a monotone, bled dry of all emotion be cause he’d practiced this. 

“You will,” Magnus said, and Alec breathed. Kept breathing. For _years_ he’d practiced this, pushed everything down, folded everything away, worked at hiding whatever he felt because he knew how much he’d give away if he let even one inch of how much he _hated_ Magnus Bane right now show. 

Hated his flirting and the perfect curve of his lips. Hated the way he looked at Alec; the way his dark eyes and their unwavering attention made him feel. Hated, more than anything, his _freedom_ , to do the things he did and to say the things he said without the constant weight of shame that had made itself a harness and settled in on Alec’s back. 

*

The sick, unsettled feeling didn’t leave him when they returned to the Institute - if anything, it got worse. Alec pushed down hard against it, ignored whatever it was that was tugging his stomach out of shape. He’d think he was coming down with something if that was the sort of thing Shadowhunters did - but then he wasn’t much of a Shadowhunter, was he?

Teeth clenched against the thought, Alec hated how automatic it was to push to his feet when Jace walked past the open door of his bedroom. To follow him to - of course - the girl’s room, where he found them arguing over the portal-shard necklace until Alec took charge of it, stored it somewhere safe where there was no chance of it being used to contact Valentine. Shit, _Valentine_ , of all people, and Jace was just going to - 

This was why they were taught to suppress emotions. To control emotions, so the emotions couldn’t control _them_. Jace was acting irrationally - which was nothing new - and over a girl, which was also familiar. But something about Clary and the way that Jace reacted to her, it made Alec - it made him feel - 

Alec’s knees buckled abruptly, sent him swaying off course for the barest second, but long enough that he had to reach out and steady himself on the wall. 

_What the hell?_

He felt _weak_. And it was familiar - that sick uncertainty, the feeling of something missing - but it had never before been this physical. 

Alec felt weak all the time, felt out of place and not-enough, but it had always been because of emotions. He knew that what he thought about, the way he felt about Jace was about as far as the Shadowhunter ideal as it was possible to be, and sometimes it felt like he was balanced on an eggshell bridge over a bottomless drop. Like the slightest move would send him tumbling. And the way he had always dealt with that, that _weakness_ , was to push himself physically. To train harder and work longer than any other Shadowhunter, to be the best he could possibly be so that no one would see through the physical to the empty wrongness that lurked underneath. So to have his body betray him - 

He shoved himself back to his feet, wrapping an arm across his stomach and taking a moment until his legs were steady under him. This was nothing. It would be nothing. Alec would see to it. Ignoring the weakness that persisted in his legs, the way his stomach felt like it had a red-hot wire anchored to it that was pulling him out of place, Alec headed for somewhere he could _fight._

It wasn’t the time for the precision of his bow. His hands were trembling, the fine movement barely there but enough to throw him off, so he wrapped them instead and squared up to the heavy bag, forced himself - as he had so many times before - to ignore the pain and push on through. The jarring impacts shuddered through him and forced aside anything that wasn’t immediately in front of him, and he was left aching and shaking but feeling _clean._

Clean in mind, at least. Physically he was dripping with sweat, grimy but satisfied, and he unwrapped his hands and left his workout clothes in a damp mess on the bathroom floor as he climbed into the shower. The hot water was bliss running down his back, and he rested his forehead against the cool tiled wall and thought determinedly of nothing at all. 

He almost felt normal when he stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and picked out clothes from the ranks of black and gray that filled his closet. He almost felt - painful stomach aside - that he could cope with anything the world threw at him, so of course that was when Raj pounded on his door and informed him that his mother had arrived. 

Maryse Lightwood was dressed for battle. Not the kind Jace knew, with weapons and blood-smeared grins, but the kind that Alec was learning to lead. HIs mother used her words to wound and always hit the mark, and Alec hated how the targeted barbs made Izzy shrink in on herself, made his spin stiffen even as his stomach tightened around the shame of not being enough. 

_There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Alec,_ a subtle echo whispered in his ear, and Alec wished he could dismiss that comfort, the mental image of beauty his mother wouldn’t recognise. 

Whatever it was, the red-hot ice-cold pulling that had made a home for itself in his stomach, it tugged _hard_ at the mental image of Magnus. Alec had to brace himself not to take a step forward, and it made him snap more viciously than he should at Clary, ashamed of himself when he turned away. 

Fuck, he was a mess. Everything, _everything_ was a mess, and he was tangled in the centre of it all with no idea how to start picking it apart. He wished - for a stupid, shameful moment - that there was someone who could find him, pick him up and dust him off and let him rest - just for a second - in their arms, but it was Jace who found him instead. And he wanted to talk about Clary. 

“Hey,” Jace said, and Alec shrugged away from his touch, not able to meet his eyes as Jace asked what was wrong with accusation in his voice. 

“I - er.” Alec swallowed, phantom hands wrapped tight around his throat and making it hard to breathe. “You have every right to be mad at me.” Hell, Alec was mad at himself, coiled up and twisted around with it, an agonising counterpoint to the pain in his stomach that was pulling at him to finish with this, to walk away. (To walk, specifically _this_ way. Over _here_. And how was it that his pain had directions?)

“What did you do?” Jace asked, his lips curving easily around a smile, “put my leather jacket in the washing machine again?” 

“This isn’t a joke,” Alec told him flatly. This was as far from a joke as it could possibly be, the weight of years of hiding hanging on his voice and dragging down the corner of Jace’s mouth. Alec’s eyes wandered over the familiar lines of Jace’s face, still not quite able to meet his eyes. 

“At Magnus’,” he managed at last. “The demon. The image of you -” 

“That?” Jace said, and he sounded incredulous, and it felt like he was calling Alec an idiot for even worrying about it. “You love me. So? I love you too, Alec.” 

And adrenaline worked faster than his brain did, like a punch of excited delight that had the corners of his mouth curling up even though he _knew_ it wasn’t true, that it _couldn’t_ be - 

“C’mon man, we’re parabatai. We’re brothers.” The rest of what Jace said disappeared into the rush of white noise in Alec’s ears, and it hurt that much more because it was nothing he didn’t already know. There was nothing new here, no revelation, so how could the idiot disappointment still hurt so much? 

Alec fumbled out a response, didn’t pay much attention to anything until the curve of Jace’s hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in. And he helped himself to nothing that was his, closed his eyes and curled around Jace, breathed him in and - just for a second - let himself rest. 

*

To say that Alec was _conflicted_ , as he picked up a staff and faced down Clary Fray, was an exercise in understatement. He was almost relieved when he was interrupted by the sharp trill of his phone. It was none of his contacts - his siblings, his parents, the few Shadowhunters who’d needed his number on missions - and it took him a moment to place the smooth voice. 

“Alexander, hi. It’s -”

“Magnus,” Alec breathed, and for the first time since leaving his apartment the burning fishhook that was tugging at Alec’s gut eased off, cooled down. He leaned against the glass wall, gratitude in every slowly relaxing line of him. 

“Magnus Bane,” he confirmed. “We met the other day - but I see you remember me.” 

It was the relief from pain that was making him smile. Nothing more. 

“You do kind of leave an impression,” Alec said, and then bit down on his tongue. 

“Well I was just thinking,” Magnus said, his voice warmer now, “it was really nice getting to know you, you seem - sympathetic. Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?” 

“That sounds -” ridiculous. Impossible. “Like fun,” Alec said, couldn’t believe he was saying. “When?” 

“How about right now?” Magnus asked. “There’s something I think we need to discuss.” 

“Now’s -” Alec turned, scanned the area, entirely failed to catch any glimpse of distinctive red hair. “Now’s not really a good time for me. Gotta go.” He hung up his phone and set off at a run, crashing through the door of Clary’s room and not surprised even the slightest that she was nowhere to be seen. He ignored the insistent ring of his phone as he left the Institute and headed off in pursuit of Clary goddamn Fray. 

It wasn’t that Alec didn’t leave the Institute. It was just that he tended to leave when it was dark outside, when the vampires and ‘wolves and demons were on the prowl. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like mundanes, it was just that they were idiots, every last one. How could they walk so heavily, move so loudly, be so embarrassingly unaware of their surroundings? Was it any wonder that he had to save their lives every night, every day, when everything they did seemed calculated to draw attention to themselves in the worst possible ways. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he caught sight of Clary, his attention drawn by the high ringing of her phone and the bemused mundanes wondering where the sound was coming from. 

Alec pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against - just for a moment, just to catch his breath - and pushed himself forward to meet her, every step like pulling against a tether. He gritted his teeth and called her childish. Childish for walking out of the Institute like that, for putting herself in danger; childish for doing what she _wanted_ , because in Alec’s experience adulthood was synonymous for disappointment. 

“I’m on my way to -” she told her mundane friend, and Alec gritted his teeth against a wave of pain. 

“That’s it,” he snapped out. “We have to go. Right now.” 

“Why do you always look so miserable?” she asked him, and he almost laughed in her face. Why wouldn’t he - another wave that rushed through him, forcing his hands into fists - why wouldn’t he feel - 

“It must be hard, being in love with Jace,” she said, and he gaped at her. 

“Excuse me?” His voice grated against the inside of his throat, “what?” 

“I was there when the memory came out,” she prattled on, and he tried to breathe against the pain of it, an assault on two fronts. 

“Clary -” 

“Busted, no?” 

“I’m not -” he said, and then doubled over as the pain increased, magnified, tore a hole through him. He crashed to his knees on the sidewalk, curled over himself, and found himself leaning a little into the gentle hands that came to rest on his shoulder, his back. 

“Alec?” 

“I can’t -” he said, and then, nonsensical, “ _Magnus_ ,” torn out of him, before everything went black. 

 


End file.
